


Almost Checkmate

by kibasniper



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: During Canon, Episode Related, Ficlet, Gen, Internalized Misogyny, Missing Scene, POV First Person, Power Imbalance, Self Confidence, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Ruby Hill does not know she is my opponent, but that makes the game much better.
Relationships: Phoebe Donnegan & Ruby Hill
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Almost Checkmate

Ruby must be the most naive woman alive to leave her purse open after proving my suspicions. I mean, showing me how to test if a bill is real or not after this place got robbed? It’s like she’s the one fastening herself to anchor waiting for me to push her into the sea. If she wants to drown herself, then it makes my job a hell of a lot easier.

Though, I wonder how she did it. With that motorized wheelchair humming up a storm as she passes me to the register across the nail salon, I’m fascinated. How she was able to schmooze the employees or somehow get the keys to the back room without anyone realizing her true intentions has my little gray cells tingling. She must have some level of intellect if she managed to scam her employer out of that nail polish, but her enormous slip-ups, her social faux pas, force my smile.

Stealing from her purse is easy. A deft hand will curl around the phone without touching anything unnecessary. I already know it will rest exactly on top of her other possessions because a phone is a person’s most important item. As anticipated, that’s exactly where it is when I reach inside. I curl my fingers around it and roll my wrist, pushing the phone into my palm, smoothing it down with my thumb, carefully avoiding any residue from my still wet fingernails from dripping into the fake leather interior.

To anyone else, I look like a regular customer. Well, their eyes are elsewhere. No one notices me, which is exactly how I like it. They keep their gazes to their too polished, too bright nails. These women can inspect their perfectly pushed back cuticles and talk about their kids while I get the job done right under their noses. (If they do notice me, then they won’t comment on it. They will think to themselves, “No one would brazenly steal at a nail salon, especially one as nice as this,” and they will continue talking about their manicure or problems with their husbands.)

The droning hum announces her return. I slide the phone into my pocket and keep my hands splayed on the table. My phalanges press against my skin, popping when I flex my fingers. Blood accumulates in the tips and matches the scarlet color she painted, splotchy white dots appearing on my skin like the back of a lively ladybug.

“Okay, thanks for waiting,” Ruby says, her wheelchair stopping next to my chair. She holds my credit card with the receipt wrapped around it and sets it on the table.

“Oh, thanks! I really love everything you’ve done for me today,” I reply in a voice just a little too loud.

Her cheeks twitch. Her smile falters as her lips part. Volume control had never been in my arsenal. The cheerleaders in high school would say the same about me. (Not that they matter now, not when I’m the one in power. While they settle down and lounge on their leather loveseat with their newly formed muffin tops, I’m on a stakeout one step closer to nabbing the culprit.)

Ruby quietly sucks in a breath, her professionalism unwavering. She twists her mouth back into a practiced grin, and I give her one of my own when I stand up. I offer my hand too quickly, my nails almost scraping her chin. She shrinks back and accepts my hand, allowing me to feel the softness of her palm pressing against my callouses, but when I pull back, I can’t help but notice how her hand curls into a fist.

“Well, I’ll be sure to come back and ask for you. You’re really a miracle worker,” I say, laughing at my own derision.

A few customers glance my way. My octaves aren’t welcome here. Ruby nods and tells me that she’ll have me anytime before she starts cleaning up her desk, not bothering to spare me a second glance.

My grin tightens. I’ll hold her to that. Turning away, I collect my own pocketbook and hoist it over my shoulder. With my back to Ruby, I stuff my hand into my pocket, making it appear like I’m putting my credit card away when I know for a fact Ruby’s phone presses into my thigh underneath the card. Gripping the strap of my bag as it sways into my side, I’m more than happy to leave behind the artificial floral chemicals from the nail polish and cheap citrus perfumes wafting from each woman. Breathing in the fresh air as soon as I open the door, I bask in the sunlight as the game between Ruby and I truly begins.

And what makes it better? She doesn’t even know she’s playing.


End file.
